


The Clothes that Make the Man

by tisfan



Series: Stony Bingo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, POV Multiple, Past Tense, Present Tense, Sharing Clothes, Superhusbands (Marvel), Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony keeps souvenirs of special moments with Steve...





	The Clothes that Make the Man

**Author's Note:**

> For Stony Bingo  
> Trope: Switching Clothes

It wasn’t that Steve usually took note specifically of what Tony was wearing; he was wearing a suit, the way he often wore suits on days when there were press conferences. Steve wasn’t such a fashionista that he knew anything about suits, really. Aside from the fact that Tony looked really good in them. But Tony looked really good in just about everything that Steve ever saw him in. The man could move like a tatty tank and a pair of jeans with the knees torn out were the height of fashion.

But when Pepper moved in to straighten Tony’s tie, Steve cocked his head to one side, his gaze drawn to the tie.

Not a great tie, really, although it was Tony and the tie did its job of drawing the gaze upward to his sharp chin and downward to his narrow waist, and knowing Tony, he’d manage to spin at the exact right moment to show off that perfect butt.

But it was a familiar tie.

Diagonal striped, a deep, muted red, a silvery shade of white, and a pale, slate blue. The sort of thing his PR manager always dressed Steve in, because even when Steve wasn’t wearing the Captain America suit, they liked to put him in those colors. Just in case someone (namely Steve, he thought privately sometimes) forgot that he was Captain America and maybe considered that he might actually be a kid from Brooklyn. Steve G. Rogers.

Steve shifted closer.

It wasn’t just _similar_ to one of Steve’s ties.

It was _Steve’s tie_.

***

_It’s not the first time Tony’s asked Steve to dance, but it is the first time that Steve says yes._

_Tony’s not sure why Steve keeps turning him down; they’re charity events and Tony dances with literally everyone. He dances with his friends -- he and Rhodey cut a rug at almost every event and have since they’d been attending events together, and it’s quite clear to everyone that he and Rhodes are just friends. It’s not like Tony’s making a move on Steve._

_Before, Steve has always blushed charmingly and stammered a bit and then miraculously spotted someone he absolutely had to speak with and wandered off._

_Tony is pretty sure, at this point, that Steve’s never going to agree to dance with him. He keeps asking because it was still vaguely possible that Steve might say yes by accident someday. Tony is pretty sure that’s why Pepper ended up dancing with him. Tony is just persistent like that._

_He doesn’t examine at all why he wants to persistently ask Steve Rogers to dance._

_When Steve says yes and puts his hand in Tony’s, for a moment, Tony has no idea how to react. And then he leads Steve onto the dance floor. The music sounds old; Big Band music has had a bit of a come-back, remix era, like rap did with seventies music back in the eighties._

_“You know I don’t actually know how to dance,” Steve says. That blush is back on his neck, pinking just over the color of his tailored suit. Steve looks good in a suit, when he forgets that he’s wearing it. The rest of the time, he just looks awkward and embarrassed._

_“Yes,” Tony says. He draws one hand down Steve’s impressive bicep, displayed by the suits neat lines. “But I do. So, if you can take off your Captain’s hat for a while, and follow my lead, we’ll be fine.”_

_“I’m not wearing my Captain’s hat,” Steve points out._

_“Well, take off something else, then,” Tony suggests._

_Steve blushes, because of course he does. And then he takes Tony’s free hand and lets Tony spin them onto the floor._

_Steve might not know how to dance, but he’s quick, and agile, and he can analyze combat patterns and situational maps. And they have been fighting together for quite some time. Which means Tony only gets his foot stepped on twice. (Which was good, because Steve is fucking heavy; bone and solid muscle.)_

_Tony manages to talk Steve into a second dance; they’d come in nearly halfway through the first song, so that was fair, right? (That was also a lie, they’d started dancing only thirty seconds into the first four minutes, but Steve didn’t object, so that was okay.) The second dance was slow, and even Steve could manage to put his hands on Tony’s waist and spin around in graceful, spiralling circles, staring down into Tony’s eyes._

_Steve doesn’t say anything when they part, but Tony can feel him, watching, the whole rest of the night. As the event draws to a close, most of the men have loosened or removed their ties, unbuttoned the top of their shirts. (Clint’s jacket disappeared early in the evening and no one will ever see it again, because Clint.)_

_And if Steve’s tie, abandoned on the bartop, happens to make it into Tony’s pocket as a reminder of their first dance, Steve doesn’t seem to miss it._

_***_

“JARVIS,” Steve said, leaning his hip against the wall outside Tony’s workshop, “could you remind him that I cannot get sick, so contamination isn’t an issue. Also that I have a lot of stamina, and I’m very annoying, and I will stand outside the door and bother him every five minutes until he lets me in?”

“He says,” JARVIS announced, “that calling you annoying is his job, and fuck you.” But the door slid open, which was really all Steve wanted.

He had soup and tea and a variety of cold medications for Tony, but getting the man to do anything but ignore his health problems was like pulling teeth. Tony would croon and get his screwdriver out the moment the disposal made a funny noise, or the instant there was anything he could fix, improve, or otherwise meddle with that was made of parts, but Tony didn’t much care about biology, as far as Steve could tell.

Tony was huddled up on the tatty couch, bundled in a blanket with his head barely poking out, like some sort of human burrito.

“It’s just a cold, Steve, go away,” Tony grumbled.

“Don’t make me spoon-feed you,” Steve threatened. “Come on, have some tea, at least. You need to rehydrate.”

As Tony was surrounded by crumpled up tissues, this was undoubtedly true. Dum-E was picking them up, one at a time, trundling across the workshop to the trash, and dropping them in there. Even from that close, Dum-E’s aim wasn’t so good. And Butterfingers was helping, if one defined help as picking up the missed tissues, and placing them carefully in the trash, then wiping his appendage off with a sanitary wet wipe and dropping that in the trash as well. That was probably as much fussing as Tony could stand most of the time, letting the bots clean up the mess. Tony was as proud of those bots as most men were of their sons.

“Ug, wet weeds,” Tony said. “Tempt me with something else.”

“Homemade soup?”

“Did you make it?” Tony wondered. He peeked further out of his blanket roll, then opened it up enough to pull the bowl up to his mouth and slurp noisily.

“No, Natasha did,” Steve replied.

He didn’t quite have to dodge out of the way of spluttered soup, but Tony’s face froze in the instant just before he swallowed. “Oh. Well, maybe it’s poisoned and it’ll kill me sooner.”

“Nat didn’t poison the soup, Tony,” Steve said.

“Too bad,” Tony replied. He drank the rest of the soup without complaint, though, so it must not have been terrible. Steve had his various favorite foods, of course, but he didn’t much notice if food wasn’t great. There was always worse that he’d eaten.

Steve managed to spoon a few doses of the cold medicine into Tony’s mouth, and then the tea, because cold medicine was terrible, and even Steve noticed that.

Tony was just swallowing the last of the tea with a grimace when Steve frowned. “Is that… my Army of One sweatshirt?”

Of course it was; he couldn’t imagine Tony voluntarily buying something that cheesy and propaganda-ish. Steve only had it because Sam had given it to him, meaning to make fun. And Steve always found that Sam got perplexed and agitated whenever Steve blatantly refused to notice that he was being made sport of. (This might also be why Steve had acquired several pairs of novelty sunglasses, a truly tacky American flag hat, and a stuffed bald eagle. Steve loved every single one of those items.)

Also, it was enormous on Tony. Tony was pretty fit for a normal human, but he was a good several inches shorter than Steve, and substantially thinner. He was practically drowning in the sweatshirt, and he had the sleeves pulled all the way down to half-cover his hands.

Tony merely shrugged, the tightness around his eyes the only indication that he was feeling defensive. “Might be,” he said. “I was cold.”

“It’s fine, you keep it,” Steve offered.

***

_Tony had been kidnapped a ridiculous number of times._

_He didn’t even know how many times. While Tony could recall every single instance with the remarkable clarity that was his gift and curse, he refused to grace the events by_ counting _them. He’d been tied to any number of dirty beds or uncomfortable chairs. One time, he’d even been zip tied to a fucking box spring._

_There were times when Tony wishes he’d followed Coulson’s little cards, because now that the world knew he is Iron Man, the number of assholes who try (or succeeded) to kidnap him also include super villains._

_On the down side, this particular super villain tags and bags him while Tony is out for a cup of coffee._

_On the up side, he is out for a cup of coffee with_ Steve _._

_Stupid villains._

_It takes Steve all of about three minutes and one amazing leap onto a semi-trailer, to catch up. Even less time for Steve to deal with the villain._

_And then he’s yanking Tony’s bindings free. Tony stumbles and Steve catches him. Tony gazes upward into those eyes that make the sky seem small and dingy. The color of rain, the color of comfortable jeans. Tony’s writing poetry in his head while Steve holds his arms, keeping him from falling to the ground. He probably wishes Tony would get his feet under him and stop swooning like a teenage girl at a Beatles concert. Not that Steve knows what the British Invasion is._

_Except Steve doesn’t let him go, when Tony gets his balance back. He just stays there, staring back at Tony as if he’s seeing something clearly for the first time. He’s wearing his Army of One sweatshirt. It wasn’t a date, they don’t date. Except that Tony doesn’t always tell his stupid heart that._

_“Tony,” Steve says, and he leans even closer._

_Tony is already shifting, moving up onto the balls of his feet, anticipating a kiss that he shouldn’t be taking._

_Steve tastes like coffee._

_They don’t talk about the kiss, later. Sometimes, alone in his overly large bed, Tony wonders if it actually happens at all, or if it is just a particularly vivid fever dream._

_***_

“Tony!” Steve scowled mightily. “Gimme back my hat.”

“What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine, sunshine,” Tony said, dodging around the obstacle course. Steve would catch him, eventually. He always did.

But the chase was always fun. Letting Tony stay out of reach until Tony was breathless with running and laughing, and then Steve would knock him to the floor and kiss him stupid.

“I don’t remember making that promise,” Steve said. He leapt up onto the scaling wall, balanced there, in a squat, one hand down for balance. Tony rounded the corner and Steve dropped in front of him.

“You promised to share your life with me,” Tony pointed out, shifting to one side, then dodging the other way, getting around Steve.

“My life doesn’t mean my _clothes_ , Tony,” Steve retorted.

“Well…” Tony came to a sudden halt and Steve nearly plowed into him. “Why don’t you take them off me, then?”

Steve smiled, put his arms around Tony’s waist. “Sounds like an excellent suggestion, husband.”

Tony smirked. “Wait til you see _what else_ of yours I’m wearing.”

Steve went up in flames. “Are you wearing my boxers again?” Steve croaked.

Tony wiggled his left hand. “I was talking about our wedding bands, Captain Dirty Mind.”

“No. You weren’t.”

Tony gave him a wicked smile. “No. I wasn’t.”

 


End file.
